


Hunter Home From the Hill

by hgdoghouse



Category: The Professionals
Genre: First Time, M/M, post episode
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-19
Updated: 2011-11-19
Packaged: 2017-10-26 06:57:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/280077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hgdoghouse/pseuds/hgdoghouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>set after 'Close Quarters' - although the only relevance is that both Bodie's hands are bandaged.</p><p>Doyle goes to Soho to scratch an itch and finds Bodie about to do the same thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hunter Home From the Hill

post _Close Quarters_

 

With his partner on what was proving to be a lengthy sick-leave following his capture of Myer and his gang, Doyle settled down to some routine legwork with no Bodie to relieve the tedium. Disconcerted by how much he missed his other half, and more worried about Bodie's slow-to-heal hands than he would admit, he irritably continued his hunt for the semtex reported to be in London. Getting nowhere fast, he went on a trawl of his informers - more to get out of headquarters than because he thought they would be able to help.

Evening found him sitting in the public bar of _The Horse and Hounds_ in the faint hope that Hugh MacAvoy would come up with some information. A newspaper vendor by day, the wizened Irishman attracted scraps of information with the ease that a stray dog harboured fleas. Knowing from experience that Hugh's loquacious tongue had to be allowed to run its course, Doyle kept the tots of whiskey coming. In the event Hugh proved to be singularly ignorant about semtex, although it took him over three hours to concede as much. Sipping from the glass cupped between his gnarled hands, his wrinkled face grew rosier as the level of alcohol in his bloodstream rose. His impatience well hidden, Doyle jollied him along, mentally noting various useful scraps of information regarding the movements of various small-time villains, before he waved Hugh farewell at closing time.

Emerging onto the streets of Soho, Doyle decided to do a little hunting on his own account. His undefined restlessness of the last few days having matured into an identifiable itch, he prowled the streets and clubs in his search for some sweet man flesh, anticipation tingling along his skin. While he wasn't sure who he wanted, he knew he would recognise him when he saw him.

Mingling with those who supplied or demanded the seedy nightlife London had to offer those alone and in need, Doyle absorbed it all. He was in no hurry, not yet so desperate that any body would do. His professional experience of the gay sub-culture was far advanced of his personal, which was limited to a couple of forays in his late teens. When he joined the Force he'd deliberately limited his sexual options - Her Majesty's Constabulary weren't noted for their liberal attitudes. Until recently he hadn't been tempted to stray from the straight-but-far-from-narrow.

In no mood to ponder what might be behind this change of heart, he checked everywhere - from the sleaziest peep show to expensive Mayfair bars - before returning to the back streets of Soho.

No one Doyle saw caught his fancy. By two a.m. he had reluctantly conceded defeat and returned to his car. Illegally parked in a narrow side street which housed one stage door, two pubs, three strip clubs and a discreet gay nightclub, the street was quiet at this hour.

Blowing on fingers chilled by the December night air, Doyle slid into the car. Switching on the headlights while he waited for the frost on the windscreen to clear, he peered through the smeared glass, certain he must be seeing things when the headlights illuminated a familiar back and dark head.

As the man turned, Doyle left the car. Trying not to jump to false conclusions, he propped himself on the bonnet, oblivious to its coating of frost, as he watched Bodie conclude his contract with an attractive blond youth in his late teens. The boy looked nervous and Doyle scanned the shadows, suspecting that his pimp might be lurking there. Movement returned his attention to his partner.

Realising that Bodie was really going to be stupid enough to pick up a pro., Doyle stalked purposefully forward. His piercing whistle made the boy's head whip around before he took off at a run, swiftly disappearing into the shadows. Doyle did not spare him a second glance.

"Evening," he said, his hands punched deep in the pockets of his jacket.

Bodie's glare was unwelcoming in the extreme. "What the hell d'you think you're doing?"

"Stopping you from making a total prat of yourself. Come on, we're going home."

"For your information I'm - "

"It's all right, officer. Ray Doyle, CI5." Slipping out his ID, Doyle presented it to the police constable who had appeared and fastened a hand over Bodie's elbow in the time honoured tradition. His grip was ungentle of intent. "Just someone we want to help us with our inquiries," he continued pleasantly. "'Night."

"'Night, sir."

His expression murderous, Bodie allowed himself to be led across the street. He made no protest because he knew the constable was still watching them.

When he spoke, Bodie's voice held a wealth of emotion despite its lack of volume. "What the fuck d'you think you're playing at?"

"Shut up, Bodie." There was a tight note of warning in Doyle's voice as he unlocked the passenger door. "Get in. And don't give me any crap about not being able to manage with those hands. I saw what you were about to take on."

He slid behind the wheel, slamming his door shut with force enough to shake the car. Doyle was infuriated to realise that his primary emotion was jealousy, mingled with a sense of loss for something which he had never known he wanted.

The passenger door open, Bodie leant inside the interior the better to direct his glare. "What I do in my own time is none of your - "

The rest of the sentence was lost as Doyle swooped across the gear stick and seat, one strong, long-fingered hand latching onto the black polo-neck sweater Bodie wore. He jerked Bodie off-balance and deeper into the interior of the car.

Knocking his heavily bandaged right hand on the dashboard, Bodie cut off an exclamation and eased onto the passenger seat without further protest, his eyes watering with pain.

"Let me see that," muttered Doyle, a gruff impatience imperfectly concealing his feeling of guilt. His touch was gentle as he checked the padding beneath the gauze, carefully manipulating the barely visible finger tips.

Watching the down bent head and severe profile, Bodie's heart gave an unwary twist. Unfair, he thought, misery knotting his gut. The one bloody night he couldn't take any more and he had to meet up with Ray.

"You'll live," Doyle announced, leaning across to close the passenger door. The warmth and scent of Bodie filling his senses, he quickly resumed the vertical. "You can save the excuses until we get home. I want to talk to you and here isn't the place to do it."

The car took off with a screech of tyres, the taxi Doyle cut up sounding its horn behind them.

Opening his mouth to protest, Bodie recognised the implacable determination on Doyle’s face where it was illuminated by the street lamp and thought the better of it. The agony of his hand easing to a dull throb, an outer calm concealed his inner turmoil; he made no attempt to break the silence.

 

Doyle remained silent until he closed his front door behind them and shepherded Bodie into the sitting room. Slipping off his sheepskin jacket, he tossed it behind him without bothering to check if it had landed on the chair at which it had been aimed. Hands on his hips, he glared at his companion.

"I'm not going to waste my breath asking what you were doing. That much was obvious. Of all the dumb fucks you certainly take the prize. A rent boy, for god's sake! If you're that desperate for a bloke - What's wrong with me?" That not what he had intended to say, Doyle came to a grinding halt.

"Eh?" Poise destroyed, Bodie gawped at him.

"You heard me," said Doyle in a milder tone, a glint of rueful amusement in his eyes now as he recognised who he had been looking for on the streets tonight. Bodie wasn't the only dumb fuck around here.

"I should think everyone within a quarter of a mile radius heard you. It's believing you that I'm having a problem with," retorted Bodie.

Doyle shrugged. "If you don't fancy the idea you only have to say."

Studying the aggressively braced figure, Bodie relaxed and shook his head. "Telling lies makes your nose grow. Of course I fancy you. I told you that the first day we were teamed." He had sometimes thought that if he could pinpoint Doyle's allure he would be immune to it: sadly that hadn't happened yet.

Self-conscious under his partner's unwavering scrutiny, Doyle poured himself a drink. "D'you want anything?" he asked abruptly.

"I have done for a long time. You didn't believe me when I told you I fancied you."

Doyle's face remained hidden from view, but his back had tensed. "You mean you were serious? I thought you were trying to set me up."

"Six of one, half a dozen of the other," admitted Bodie with a shrug.

"I'll bet it was. It would have been a mistake, that early on." Doyle sounded as if he was speaking to himself more than to Bodie.

"And now?" asked Bodie with care.

Doyle was staring into the middle distance. "I dunno, mate. I mean, I want you, and you seem to want me. 'S not the point."

"Isn't it?" Not for the first time, Bodie was fascinated by his partner's convoluted thought processes while aware that, like an iceberg, only a tenth of them were ever visible.

Doyle gave him an impatient look. "You know it isn't."

Bodie tugged on an ear lobe. "You could have a point."

"Yeah." Doyle sounded no happier for having gained agreement. He kept slipping quick glances at Bodie, as if noticing him for the first time - or at least through different eyes.

"On the other hand - " began Bodie.

"Just shut up, will you. How's your hand?" Doyle added abruptly.

"Which one?" Bodie gave his bandaged digits a depressed glance.

"Are they still bad?" Doyle asked in a different tone as he brushed the gauze with a careful finger.

"I'll survive," said Bodie in more of his usual manner.

"You'd better. My popularity around the Squad has been at an all time low since you've been off work. Not that it's ever been high." If the thought bothered Doyle, it was not apparent.

"You must be an acquired taste." A velvety timbre to his voice, Bodie's heavy-lidded gaze remained on the seductive mouth so close to his own.

While the contents of his glass had not been touched, Doyle crossed the room to top up his drink before abandoning it. Taking root with his back firmly to the wall, his arms were folded, but his canting pelvis and something indefinable in his expression denied the defensiveness of the pose.

"Do you go cruising often?" he asked mildly.

Taken aback, Bodie's head shot up. "That's none of your business. Not often. When I want to," he added pointedly.

"That's no answer."

"It's all you're going to get."

"I didn't think you made a habit of it," said Doyle with a satisfaction he was wary of analysing because he fondly believed he wasn't the possessive type.

"I don't need to. Besides, while Cowley might accept the fact I'm bi, he made it clear what he will and won't put up with. But tonight..." Giving a faint sigh, Bodie gave his hands another brooding glance. "Tonight I wanted to - "

"- get the shit kicked out of you while you can't defend yourself. I wonder about you sometimes," Doyle added moodily, his enigmatic gaze focussed somewhere just beyond Bodie.

"It'd be boring if I was perfect."

Recognising the admission of culpability, Doyle relaxed. "Fat chance. OK," he added, pushing himself away from the wall, "as we were both after the same thing tonight, we may as well give it a whirl."

Waiting for outrage to overtake him, Bodie heard himself laugh instead, ridiculously moved to realise that beneath that abrasive confidence his normally unflappable partner was nervous.

"All right, silver tongue. You've talked me into it. Have you got a spare tooth brush I can use?"

"Of course. Always prepared, that's me," replied Doyle automatically, wishing it could be true in this instance. It had been a long time since he'd had it away with a bloke. He was scared he would disappoint Bodie - or worse, that he would put him off before he'd had the chance to convince Bodie that he should give them a chance together.

What the hell was he thinking of, he wondered, scared to death by his jumbled emotions, and terrified by the fact that none of them seemed as outrageous - or even as surprising - as they should have done.

Bodie headed for the bedroom without a backward glance, half of the belief that he would turn into a pillar of salt if he did. Once inside the sparsely furnished room that was dominated by the large bed, he paused. "What do you want to limit this to?"

Busy undressing with a workmanlike matter-of-factness, Doyle spared him a look of surprise. "You're getting cautious in your old age. I don't like limits. If it feels good we'll give it a try. If it doesn't, we'll stop." He gave Bodie a pointed look.

"Are you always this dictatorial with your lovers?" Bodie asked, unfazed but curious.

"Only when I have to be. I know you," Doyle added darkly.

"You think you do," Bodie murmured, his voice a near purr.

While Bodie hadn't moved a muscle, Doyle shivered, a familiar heaviness tightening his groin, as if it had been caressed by one of those bandaged hands.

"Yes," he mumbled weakly, before making a recovery. "If you're expecting me to act as your valet, you'll have to think again." Hitching himself up onto the top of the chest of drawers, his feet crossed at the ankles, he waited, dressed only in his jeans, the waistband of which had been unfastened.

"Why have you stopped?" enquired Bodie. He had been enjoying the strip show, yet to tire of watching Doyle in any state of dress.

"I'm waiting for you to catch up with me. Get 'em off," Doyle commanded.

He frowned when he saw the difficulty Bodie was experiencing with buttons and fasteners. Losing patience with his partner's slow progress, and hating the fleeting grimaces of discomfort he knew he was not supposed to notice, Doyle slid down to take charge.

Having removed the jacket and black polo neck sweater, his palm remained on Bodie's chest, his fingers splayed across the warm flesh as his thumb moved in a gentle caress.

"Ray?" queried Bodie, when nothing else happened.

Doyle blinked and removed his hand. "Maybe next time you ring in with an emergency, you'll remember to give your location straight away," he scolded crossly.

He tugged the charcoal trousers down Bodie’s thighs and slid them free before hanging them up with a care he had not bothered to lavish on his own clothes. Stripping off his own jeans and briefs, Doyle left them in two heaps on the floor and returned to where Bodie stood.

Bodie had made no attempt to defend himself. Staring at the carpet, his bent head failed to hide the droop of his mouth. Perhaps it was the illusion of submissiveness given by the downcast lashes and the wistful curve of the pouting mouth Doyle wanted to taste so much which defeated him. Doyle was in no mood to bother with analysis. Nuzzling the corner of Bodie's mouth, his fingers slipped under the top of Bodie's briefs as he prepared to ease them off. Doyle forgot everything when Bodie turned his head slightly, his lips parting for their first kiss.

It was Doyle who saw them to bed, where they rolled and twisted and humped in their desperation to share it all, now. Bodie became increasingly frustrated by his inability to feel what he tried to touch.

Straddling his supine partner by this time, Doyle flinched as previously ticklish gauze proved too abrasive for the places where he most longed to be touched.

Bodie gave a groan of sheer frustration. "Fuck it! 'M going to take the bloody things off."

"No you're not," Doyle told him gently. Grasping Bodie's wrists, he stroked the tender inner flesh with his thumbs. "While I don't like it any more than you, that will have to wait. Maybe a change of plan is called for. What you need is a helping hand."

Bodie searched Doyle's face for signs of amusement and saw only understanding thinly veiling a naked hunger.

It was quite something to be wanted by Ray Doyle and slowly he relaxed, his mouth literally watering as he inhaled his lover's scent.

"I could eat you," whispered Doyle, unconsciously echoing Bodie's thoughts.

Beyond controlling his expression, the mute longing on Bodie's face abruptly changed as Doyle slid away to do just that. Gasping and bucking as his aching prick was laved and teased, he tried to swivel Doyle over him so that he could return the compliment.

"Later," said Doyle, pausing in his labours. "You start sucking me off and there's a danger I'll nip something important. I've not had much practise at this," he explained with an endearing matter-of-factness.

"Could've fooled me. Listen, if you're that hot, we'll do it another way. Come together."

The unfocussed intensity of Doyle's expression softened, his hand still caressing Bodie's close drawn testicles, scratching unbearably lightly, pulling gently before he massaged the tender sacs.

Bodie whimpered and gasped something unintelligible.

"Or die trying?" said Doyle indulgently. "Keep that thought for later. For now," his head bent, "I've wanted this for so long." The admission came easily now.

Unable to touch, Bodie lay back, all thoughts centring on his own body as that wickedly knowing mouth took him in, one arm pinning his bucking torso as he came with a rasping gasp. Slow to collapse, he was even slower to recover.

"Ray?"

"Bodie, I've got to - "

A desperate look to him by this time, Doyle rolled his still breathless partner onto his stomach and settled over him.

"Trust me," he gasped, his cock jabbing between Bodie's buttocks. "I won't - "

"I do and you can," mumbled Bodie, boneless with the pleasure of his coming.

Doyle shuddered before all movement stopped. "Do you mean that?"

"Silly sod," mumbled Bodie. "You got anything you can use to - ?" The redundant question faded away when Doyle knelt up and stretched past him to reach into the bedside cabinet. He knocked a box of tissues to the floor as he caught hold of a tube of KY.

Bodie gave it an admiring grin as Doyle fumbled to unfasten the top. "Anyone as prepared as you should have been a boy scout."

"Had ballet lessons instead. Christ, you've got a gorgeous arse," mumbled Doyle, palming it in a proprietorial manner.

"It's yours for the taking, sunshine."

Doyle took several deep breaths, trying to calm the storm in his blood. "Will you be ready for me? It won't be much fun for you otherwise."

Bodie turned to look at him. "Of course it will. It's you, isn't it."

His eyes closing for a moment, Doyle gave him a shaky smile before he kissed the nape of the strong neck. His mouth travelled downwards until his tongue delved down the dark haired cleft, flicking against the tiny muscle.

"You want to lift up a bit?" Doyle mumbled, a coated finger stroking the spot before it eased inwards.

Raising himself, his weight balanced between his knees and his forearms, his cheek buried in the pillow, cool air eddied around Bodie's heated skin, making him shiver. His breath caught as a slick finger dilated him; two came close to destroying him, his body responding helplessly to the knowledge that Ray was about to fuck him. Then the touch changed and Bodie had no breath at all, despite the care his partner was taking.

"Don't stop," Bodie gasped, knowing it would get better. Moisture seeping from the corners of his eyes, he gave a gasp of a wholly different kind as the pain faded, leaving only fullness and something infinitely more promising.

Ignoring him, Doyle remained motionless, his rasping breaths against Bodie's shoulder betraying his strain. So Bodie took the initiative, thrusting back and giving a wail of pleasure as Doyle hit the spot.

Fully sheathed, Doyle gave a startled choke and fought the imperative to move. His body plastered against Bodie's, he was muttering obscenities under his breath as he slowly regained control. But the fingers he placed against Bodie's cheek were shaking.

"Are you OK?" His other hand, slick and warm, settled around Bodie's semi-tumescence, pulling gently.

"I'm lovely," mumbled Bodie, raising himself slightly.

It was his last coherent thought for some time. Doyle's endurance was at an end, each shortening stroke grazing Bodie's prostate.

 

Bodie was never certain if he fainted or dozed off immediately after his second climax. He recovered to find Doyle sprawled across the remainder of the mattress, a lax hand in the small of his back. Rolling over with some effort, Bodie propped himself against a pillow.

"You're looking very pleased with yourself," he remarked thickly, finding it difficult to coordinate his tongue and lips.

"Goofy, you mean," mumbled Doyle, under no illusions. He'd lost those the time a girlfriend had taken a Polaroid of him just after they'd had it away. Fortunately he'd been too knackered to feel self-conscious.

"Whatever." Wanting some contact, Bodie brushed his partner's calf with his foot.

Making a heroic effort, Doyle pushed himself up. "The sooner you get rid of those," he touched a bandaged hand with care, "the better. You didn't hurt 'em?"

"I shouldn't think so. I had other things on my mind."

"I'm glad to hear it. Once they're off we can put you through your paces properly - or you will me. Now you've woken up, do you think I can have a bit of duvet. It's cooling down."

"It's nothing to do with the atmosphere, mate," said Bodie sleepily. "I swear steam was coming off you at one point. There you go," he added, fumbling for the duvet.

"Hang on," said Doyle, mopping him with a handful of tissues. "I should make a better job of that."

"If you'd done any better, I would have died," said Bodie with conviction. "Leave off and let's have a kip. Though we'd better use a towel next time," he added, wriggling to escape the damp patch he was lying on.

"For you to throw in?" asked Doyle, his hand absently rubbing up and down Bodie's forearm.

"I've already done that." While Bodie found a grin, something in his tone made Doyle sit up again.

"What's up?"

"Nothing."

"Oy, this is me you're talking to," reproved Doyle, tapping the thinned mouth with his forefinger. "Do you wish we hadn't done this?" He suddenly looked uncertain, and lost.

"Hardly," said Bodie in a bracing tone.

"You're safer with me than with some bloody rent boy anyway," added Doyle, aggressive because he needed to hide his uncertainty.

"I thought we'd get back to him. Don't start," warned Bodie. Experienced in Doyle's love of rehashing a subject, there was no animosity in his voice.

"No," said Doyle with unusual meekness. "That wasn't what I meant to say anyway. Just - Which of us was it you really wanted - him or me?"

There was a small silence.

"If you're stupid enough to think it could ever be a contest you're even dafter than I think. Nah," Bodie corrected himself a moment later, "you couldn't be."

"Thanks a bundle." Aiming for wry, Doyle's smile lit his entire face, meaning that Bodie had to lean across and kiss him..

"So what were you doing in Soho?" Bodie thought to ask, some time later.

"Looking for you," admitted Doyle with resignation.

Bodie looked surprised. "How did you know where I'd be?"

"I didn't. I was on the prowl. Just didn't know it was you I'd been looking for until I found you." There was a defensive note in Doyle's voice by this time.

"Oh." Bodie gave a pleased grin. "Lucky you found me, then." He ruffled unruly brown curls with a bandaged hand. "I can't feel a bloody thing through these," he groused.

"Don't remind me," sighed Doyle. "Thought I'd keep it warm for you until you can make up for it."

"Is that a promise?"

Doyle spat vigorously into his palm. "See this is wet," he wiped his hand carefully down Bodie's forearm, "see this is dry, cut my throat if I lie."

Grinning despite himself, Bodie snuggled under the bedcovers, unsurprised by the ease with which their bodies fitted together.

"Don't tempt me," he said, content to let the future look after itself. Whatever else happened, he had Doyle.

 

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> Completed 23rd January 1991
> 
> Published in _HG Collected 1_


End file.
